


You Wouldn't Believe Me If I Told You

by Cameron_McKell



Series: Upon Further Review [4]
Category: Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Baking, M/M, Mild Destruction of Property, Minor Violence, Tron Fandom Ship Week, Tron vs. Food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 01:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cameron_McKell/pseuds/Cameron_McKell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tron fails at baking, and there is breaking and entering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Wouldn't Believe Me If I Told You

**Author's Note:**

> The missing scene from this, detailing how the apartment got into the state Sam finds it in, I plan to write as a future short story at some point. This note will be removed when I add that story

“I'm really sorry about this; I even told them I was going out of town this weekend-”

 

“It's fine, Sam,” Tron interrupted with a small smile; Sam had his jacket in one hand, and five large text files in the other while he scrambled around, hunting for his keys. He kept interrupting his own search, though, to cast worried glances toward the program. While Sam flailed, trying to put his jacket on with one hand while digging through his tools, Tron accessed his last memory associated with the keys, and promptly scooped them up from behind Marvin's bed. Imitating something he'd seen Alan-One do while he visited during Lora's recent vacation, he held the keys up and shook them slightly. “You're an important person that many people need to communicate with.”

 

Sam walked over and took the keys, then wrapped his overfull arms around Tron and kissed him, “You're important too, you know.” He kissed him again for good measure, on the nose – which never failed to make Tron pull a face that Sam, apparently, couldn't get enough of – then set the keys and files down long enough to finish putting his jacket on, “You sure you'll be all right here by yourself? I could call and see if Alan or Quorra could come visit, or pick you up, or something?”

 

“I'll be fine,” Tron reassured him, and promptly shut down any attempted feelings of indignation; his understanding of the User world was growing swiftly with each consecutive visit, but Sam was still paranoid about leaving him unattended for longer than 30 seconds, since his second visit and what Sam liked to call 'The Sugar Incident'. At the time, he'd been highly distressed, and tracked down the only individual that he could _detect_ out here; Quorra had laughed at him.

 

She had also hidden him away from everyone – including Sam and Alan-One – until she'd compiled an index of her own User world insight – both through her time living with Flynn, and out in the User world itself – and copied it over to him.

 

Their friendship had been reconfirmed that night, and when Sam finally showed up the second time, somehow 'beside' himself, even though there was no one accompanying him, Quorra had simply herded Tron out the door, and told Sam he owed her a box of tissues.

 

He concluded there was _some_ logic behind the execution; there was an incalculable amount about the User world he was still unaware of, and he had no way to accurately predict what could be potentially horrifying.

 

… Still, it would be nice if _someone_ believed in him again.

 

“I'll cycle into standby with Marvin on the couch until you come back.”

 

Something about what he said must have upset Sam, because he shoved the last text file into his backpack blindly, slung it over one shoulder, and walked back over, “You know that I know you can take care of yourself, right?” Sam seemed to be waiting for some response, so Tron nodded, and he continued, “I just worry about you, is all. After all, I fully intend to see if your circuits turn the same shade of purple when you're 5000 cycles old, and I would be really disappointed if that dream was scrapped because you didn't know not to stick a fork in a toaster; don't stick a fork in a toaster, by the way.” Here, Sam paused, then smiled ruefully, “Actually, that might be good for you, but could you maybe not do it all the same?”

 

Tron huffed a sigh, then nudged Sam lightly toward his Ducati, “I already know how to operate a toaster, _including_ safety precautions. You're going to be late unless you leave in the next two minutes,  given average route traffic for this day of the week and time.”

 

Sam grumbled to himself, but obediently put his free arm through his backpack's other shoulder strap, and got on the bike, “Okay, you have my cellphone number, and the numbers for Alan, Quorra, and Lora, so call if you have any problems. I should only be a couple of hours. I know you don't really like User foods, but there's a few sports drinks in the fridge if you need to top up. Feel free to watch T.V. or use my laptop or whatever while I'm gone; a point of advice, though, is to maybe not wander too far from pages we've already visited. There's some really _weird_ stuff out there-”

 

“Yes, Sam, I know.” Tron lightly ran the back of his gloved hand over Sam's cheek, kissed that same spot, then promptly dumped the User's motorcycle helmet on his head. He smirked slightly while Sam spluttered and pushed the visor up, then sobered. “I promise I won't cause irreparable damage to myself or your home while you're away, now go; in order to arrive on time, you'll have to drive 2.3 miles per hour over the posted speed limit. You'll be on your way back before you realize it.”

 

“That's my line,” Sam let out a huff of breath, then flipped the visor back down. He revved the engine, then keyed the door to open, and began slowly rolling out. “Lock up after I'm gone; I trust _you,_ Tron, the rest of the world, not so much.” Tron nodded and waved. It made sense; everyone Sam trusted already had a key to his home, including himself, though at times he had difficulty finding a sufficiently protected space he could work the key into to store it. Today he was trying the back of his collar; so far it had yet to be dislodged by anything, but he hadn't attempted to invert himself yet, so the evaluation was incomplete.

 

Tron stood at the doorway watching until Sam turned out of sight, then he turned back inside, shut and finally locked the door.

 

Right. 'A couple of hours'.

 

He looked over at Marvin, who was sleeping on his bed and had completely missed the entire exchange.

 

The refrigerator hummed quietly off to the side; Tron gave it, and those _canisters,_ a baleful look.

 

Then he saw the cupboards, and got an idea.

 

He would surprise Sam with how much he'd improved in regards to the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

Sam was running late, and trying _really hard_ not to worry.

 

Everything had been going well, and they were even _ahead_ of schedule, until someone in R&D had brought up an unforeseen issue with some of the foreign markets, and sorting _that_ out had been a nightmare.

 

Tron had been left on his own for almost _six_ _hours._

 

Sam kept reminding himself that he hadn't called with any problems, he was a fully developed adult, and he _trusted_ Tron, while he pulled up outside the apartment.

 

He took a moment to pull off his helmet, and key the door to open.

 

The sight that greeted him caused his stomach to plummet.

 

The couch had been overturned, and Marv was curled up on the backrest turned floor cushion. The oven had been disconnected – and Sam was grateful that it was electric because he couldn't handle worrying about a gas leak just now – and shoved over by the heater. There was a strange man on the floor, with handcuffs around his wrists behind his back crossed to lock on the opposite ankle, his head oddly wet and shiny, fast asleep.

 

Then there was Tron, kneeling on the floor several feet away from the unknown man, paused halfway through picking up glass from the floor by hand, surrounded by a plate -which he seemed to be putting the glass on – two glasses of water, one full, the other about a third full, and a large bowl of brown powder, with three eggs in a divot in the middle like a reptile nest.

 

The look on Tron's face – a mix of upset, worry, and sheepishness – stayed any initial outburst Sam might have made, so he simply parked the Ducati, and closed the door back up.

 

“Sam...” Tron's voice locked up, unable to decide what to say first.

 

Sam held up a hand to stop him anyway while he simply dropped his backpack and shrugged out of his jacket, then he walked over, tugged Tron up from the floor, and hugged him, “Firstly, I'm not mad, so stop worrying. Secondly, what _happened_?”

 

“I was attempting to compile a cake,” Tron replied, looking forlornly at the bowl of probably cake mix, and the cups of water next to it.

 

Sam followed the look, then glanced toward the relocated oven, which begged a certain question, but he decided to stick with the main points for now. He nodded with his head over to the stranger, and rubbed at a spot blank of circuitry beside Tron's empty disk dock – which begged another question of where his disks had gone, “Who's he?”

 

“Mark Geoffries, blond, green eyes, 6 feet 1 inch tall, 195 pounds, date of birth June 21st 1990, driver's license number-”

 

“How did he get here?” Sam interrupted before Tron could dictate out the rest of the guy's I.D., and he'd have to remember to ask where the program put it.

 

“He hacked the rear door. When I told him his entrance was unauthorized, he became violent, so I subdued him and locked his functions.” Tron hesitated a moment, then shuffled his feet, “I apologize, Sam; I used the half cup of oil to retaliate, and it derezzed. I will have it regathered with an additional 2.3 minutes work, and can then attempt a repair. I do not want to have broken my promise.”

 

He looked again at the tiny shards of glass, then shook his head, “Don't worry about it, I'll just buy another and recycle it.” The word 'retaliate' stuck in Sam's mind, and he finally noticed the delicate, almost invisible spiderweb of cracks centered around Tron's left eye, and how it didn't _quite_ track properly with his right. In all the time Sam had been gone, Tron's self-repair hadn't taken care of it yet, so how bad had it looked in the beginning...?

 

Sam kissed Tron on the forehead, then nudged him toward the ladder for the upper level, “Why don't you go slip some of my clothes on over your suit while I call the User security monitors, and then I'll show you how to bake a cake. I'll take care of the mess down here.” Tron hesitated, clearly wanting to assist, but he finally nodded, acknowledging that most Users seemed to react strangely to his Gridsuit. He walked over behind the couch and retrieved his disks, from where they were apparently embedded in opposite ends of the coffee table, then docked them and hurried up the ladder.

 

Looking at everything one more time, Sam sighed, then pulled out his cellphone while heading toward the oven.

 

“Yeah, hi. I'd like to report a break-in...”

 

… He wondered where Tron got the handcuffs from.


End file.
